Sick Day
by oneiromancer242
Summary: We all get sick, some of us needing a little more TLC than others. Lucky that Peter has his devoted Dadneto to look after him.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N : I'm alive! Just super busy at the moment, but not too busy to start a little fic from octoberfangirl's prompt. This lovely reviewer would like to see some Dadneto with a poorly Peter. So here you are - and don't worry everyone, he'll be just fine xx**

1.

"Dad will you please just back off! I'm _fine_!"

Peter pushed his father's hand off his forehead impatiently, annoyed at the fuss he was making. True, he'd overslept by about three hours and sent all the other early risers into confusion. And true, he had been lying in bed for the last fifteen minutes trying to will himself into getting up and dressed, but really all this mithering was totally uncalled for. Undeterred, Erik reached to gently press his fingertips under his son's jaw, earning another bat of the hand and a decidedly sulky frown.

"Your glands are swollen," he muttered, "Stay there, I'm getting Hank"

"Oh no you don't!" Peter told him, finally threw the covers off his legs and pushed his father aside, "See? I'm up. I'm totally fine"

To prove it, he jumped to his feet, and was suddenly very glad that his father was there after all as his head swum and his vision greyed out. The next thing he knew, he'd been tucked back up in bed and Hank McCoy was bending over him with a stethoscope pressed to his chest.

"I'm fine…" he insisted drowsily. Hank gave him a wry little smile, popped the scope out of his ears and stood upright.

"If by 'fine' you mean 'have the 'flu' then yes, you are" he told him. Peter rolled his eyes, tried to struggle out of bed again and was restrained by the strong hands of both Hank and his father. "Lie down. Now. You're running a fever and your lungs are congested. If you try to zoom about you're going to work yourself into a collapse, and we both know what happens then don't we?"

"Yeeeeeeeess…." Peter drawled wearily, rolled his eyes again, "You lock me up in the sick bay with a needle in my hand. Got it. No zooming"

Satisfied, Hank nodded, moved over to the closet to pull out a couple of extra blankets and spread them over the bed. Peter made a concerted effort not to shiver, but truthfully he felt like he was lying on a waterbed filled with ice, couldn't help pulling the fluffy teddy-bear fleece Hank draped around his shoulders tightly to him.

"Bedrest for today, we'll see how you are tomorrow and rethink. Clear?" the doctor told him, received an ungracious little nod, "Good. Are you going to be able to eat?"

"Definitely"

"Then do – plenty of fluids, plenty of rest. You'll be fine in no time" Hank patted his shoulder comfortingly, didn't see the stuck-out tongue aimed at him as he turned to Erik, "Make sure he's resting for me will you? I'd rather not sedate him, but if it's needed give me a call"

"I don't think that will be necessary" Erik told him, a faint suspicion of a smile on his face. Nodded to direct Hank's eyes back to his patient, who having snuggled into the heap of blankets had closed his eyes and seemed to be drifting back to sleep even as they watched.

"There's nothing to worry about, Erik," Hank said kindly. Knew that though he hadn't said so, the man would be fretting about his beloved son, "The fever is going to make him feel exhausted until it breaks, but as long as he's keeping warm and eating well there won't be a problem. Just let him sleep and get some food into him when he wakes up"

"Someone say food?" Peter muttered, half-opened his eyes, "I'm starving man, can one of you grab me some breakfast?"

"What do you want?" Erik asked him gently, received a bundled-up shrug in reply

"Anything. Everything. Seriously just fill a tray, you know what I like"

"Grease and sugar coming right up" Hank grinned, "I'll do it – you stay and keep him company"

Leaving them in peace, Erik shook his head in despair at the boy trying to struggle into sitting, bent and scooped him under the arms to lift him and propping him up with pillows, rearranging the blanket around his shoulders. Peter muttered a thanks, refusing to show that he had really needed the help. Taking a seat beside him on the bed, Erik cast an eye over him again. He looked dreadful – a pale, sickly grey colour on his skin and red rims to his eyes, seeming tinier than ever curled up like that. Erik could hear the little wheezing hitch in his breathing now, though it seemed to be frustrating Peter more than bothering him.

"Do you need anything?" he asked quietly, "Tylenol? Any pain?"

"For the last time Dad –"

"I know. You're fine. Now do you have any pain anywhere?"

"Kinda…" Peter admitted, "Well, all over really. I have a headache, my joints hurt, but it's okay. Manageable, anyway – and Tylenol won't touch me so don't bother, mainly it just makes me puke"

Erik had momentarily forgotten how badly most normal medications affected his son – and that he was virtually impossible to help with pain. Just one more of those features that came with his speed and made his daily life a hassle on occasion, though Erik considered it would be considerably less of a hassle if he wouldn't keep getting himself hurt so often. Whilst he'd been laid out in a faint, Hank had told Erik that the same mechanisms that kept him cool when speeding would be going into overdrive to try to keep down his fever, warned him that he would have to stay extremely warm so he could use every available calorie to recover and fight off the virus, rather than to try to warm his body up once his insane heat-conduction had cooled it too far.

"You're gonna hang over me like Florence freakin' Nightingale until I get better, aren't you?"

Peter murmured. Erik gave him a smirk that his son didn't see, perched on the side of the bed, and gently tucked the covers in more tightly.

"Of course," he said, saw a little twitch of a smile.

"Good" his son told him, sighed, and gently shifted to rest his head against his father's arm.

By the time Peter had devoured the trayful of food Hank had soon returned with, Peter had been starting to agree that just for now, he might possibly need a little looking after. He'd gladly have got up and fought through it, if it hadn't been for the fact that even trying to adjust his position a little had made him break out in a sweat, arms feeling jellied and weak, starting to realise exactly how bad it felt to get out of breath. Hank had assured him this was going to get better by itself, but in the meantime he felt like some unkind person had filled the bottom half of both lungs with concrete, forcing him to breathe faster than ever to get enough air. Even that was exhausting, and it hadn't been long before he had allowed his father to tuck the covers in, and slip an arm gently around his back to cup his shoulder in one hand, letting him rest his head against his chest, asleep within minutes. Erik couldn't help but think of Nina, six years old and snuffling with a cold, hot little brow resting on him just as Peter's was now. Smiled sadly down at him and rested back against the headboard, stayed still and quiet whilst his son snoozed. At least he wasn't feeling too wired and agitated to sleep – that would just have been adding insult to injury. Reminded yet again of how adorable Peter could be when he was quiet and still, Erik's other hand had come up to run gently through the soft curling locks of hair at the back of his neck, hardly aware that he was humming an old melody he had once soothed his daughter with until the boy had stirred and murmured

"S'that you?"

"Yes…" Erik told him, a little embarrassed, "Sorry"

"It's okay" he felt Peter smile against his chest, one of his blanket-swathed arms shifting to grasp onto his father and preclude any idea of moving, "S'nice. You don't have to stop"

"Peter, you're going to have to move I'm afraid" Erik told him, felt the smile fall. Puffy half-open brown eyes turned up to him, "Really. I have to go to the bathroom"

"But I'm comfortable!" Peter whined quietly. The arm grasped harder, pressing down uncomfortably on Erik's bladder, "You're not allowed. M'sick, you've gotta stay"

"You'll regret it" Erik warned. No response came, and an experimental shove revealed that his son had not only dozed off again but had pulled his usual trick of becoming an absolute dead weight. Suddenly, he seemed a lot less adorable. "Honestly, Peter, please move"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhh" the boy told him, "Sleeping. Wake me for lunch."

This was going to be a very long few days.


	2. Chapter 2

2

It hadn't even been an hour of blissfully peaceful sleep – so deep that Erik had managed to wriggle out of his grasp before he had an embarrassing accident – before Peter had stirred and started once again demanding food.

"You were exactly the same as a child, you know" Erik told him with a smirk, "Only then, you were actually cute"

"I'm still adorable, dude. Please? Hank said –"

"I know what Hank said. I'm going. Honestly, if you go on at this rate we should just start liquefying Twinkies to make this quicker"

"I can't believe I never thought of that before," Peter said quietly, the idea making his eyes light up with delight, "D'you think you could do that? 'Cos that would be –"

"Completely disgusting. And no" His father told him firmly, "If you try to get out of bed whilst I'm gone, there's going to be hell to pay. Understand?"

Peter nodded, gave Erik the most mournful look he could muster, decided not to mention that he was 98% sure his legs wouldn't hold him. Left alone for now to slump back against the pillows and cough with the movement. Damn, he hated being sick, always had done. Even as a child tucked up warm and amply supplied with his mother's chicken soup he had hated the impediment to his usual activity, been more annoyed than anything. Languishing in bed wasn't his style at all, even if it did mean he would be thoroughly spoiled for the duration of his illness. Much as Peter loved being brought food and getting all the cuddles he could wish for, he'd really rather not have it if the price was feeling so weary in every part of his body that he could hardly move.

It was uncomfortably like those bad times when he'd been a teenager, constantly cold, ravenously hungry, aching all over and gripped by a bone-deep tiredness that put pay to doing anything more productive than laying on the sofa watching _The Six Million Dollar Man_ on TV. He refused to let himself make that comparison too much, however, feeling that the only thing that could possibly make him feel any worse right now would be to put himself in one of those deep blue funks he got into whenever he thought too hard about those years. Grateful when his father had returned with another heaped tray to distract him from his thoughts.

"Don't know why m'getting' so hungry" he mumbled between bites of pizza, "I mean this isn't normal, even for me"

"It's the fever," Erik told him soothingly, "You're using an enormous amount of energy to keep warm, you'll have to eat to compensate I assume. Besides, I hardly thought you'd complain"

Peter grinned at him, running a finger around the empty plate to pick up the last threads of cheese and laying back sated and for now feeling a little warmer. Watched his father pull a chair up beside his bed and arrange himself comfortably.

"Y'don't really have to stay, you know" he told him softly, "I'll be okay, I'll probably just go back to sleep"

"And wake up hungry again in another forty minutes, I imagine" his father remarked drily, "what will you do then if I go? You think I'm going to get you a bell to summon me?"

"Could you?"

"No"

"Kidding" Peter smiled dozily at him, "Sort of."

He turned himself over with an effort, resting his cheek on one hand and reaching with the other to find his father's fingers. They felt cool and pleasant, that roughened skin soothing against his own burning, clammy flesh. Closed his eyes for so long that Erik thought he was sleeping until he'd quietly asked.

"Did you do this before? With your daughter, I mean… my half-sister"

Unexpected grief swelled in Erik's chest. He had told Peter about the girl he had lost, the little sibling he would never be able to meet, but he hadn't realised that he would be curious about her. He wanted to know how Erik had been as a present father, he supposed.

"Yes," he whispered. Paused, blinked hard. "I did. Whenever she was ill. Her mother used to tell me I was too protective. But I felt better, being with her"

"Papa-Bear to the end" Peter remarked, grinned with closed eyes. Erik knotted his fingers tightly into his own, stroked his thumb over the back of his hand. Peter had such delicate hands for a man, with long slender fingers that might have been perfect for the piano, if he'd ever wanted to learn. Slim and white and soft, much like those of his daughter had been. They had stayed quiet for a while, Erik listening to Peter wheezing and occasionally coughing, laying more still than he had ever seen to conserve what little strength he had at the moment. Even his usual restless twitching absent, as if his muscles had shut down to save power – which in a way, Erik supposed was true.

"M'sorry you lost her" the boy sighed, sounding drowsy, "Really. It sucks"

Despite the lump in his throat, Erik couldn't help but smile indulgently at Peter's ability to reduce the complex chaos of feeling that losing a child brought with it to such simple terms. He was right though – it did suck. Probably qualified as what Jubilee would term "a major suckfest," in fact.

"So am I," he said, "And that's one reason I won't leave you now"

"Dadneto, I'm not gonna die. S'the 'flu. Who dies of the 'flu?"

"Old people. Little children. People with compromised immune systems. People who could starve if they aren't taken care of"

"Yeah yeah… point taken" Peter grumbled, "S'pose you should stay then"

"Believe me, young man, you never had a choice in that matter"

For the rest of the day, they had settled into a pattern of Peter waking from a deep doze to shovel down yet another huge meal, Erik wondering anew where he was putting it all, before falling back to sleep again. Back sore and knees cramping from sitting still, Erik had finally started yawning shortly before ten at night, extracting his numb hand from Peter's grasp and causing the boy to stir and frown at him, voice thick with sleep as he asked

"You OK?"

"Perfectly," Erik yawned, "tired, that's all"

"Y'should go to bed, man," Peter told him, trying to sound wise but succeeding only in slurring his words and looking unbearably cute, very slightly lifting his head and peering through slitted eyes at his father, "I'll be alright. Get some sleep"

"A while longer," Erik told him, "I'll go to bed soon"

When Peter had stirred again, he'd turned over to see that his father had slipped gently onto the bed beside him, laid out fully clothed and peacefully sleeping with one hand laying softly on his son's shoulder. Smiled at him and felt ever so slightly guilty about waking him up to fetch him a snack.


	3. Chapter 3

3

The cough had been far worse the following morning, bad enough by half six that Erik had run to fetch a very disgruntled Hank from his bed to come and check up on Peter. Driving himself mad with worry already, Erik hadn't been in the least bit pleased when Hank had straightened, stifled a yawn, and told him that his son was improving and should simply continue to rest for the day.

"Improving?" Erik repeated icily, glared daggers at the doctor, "He's coughing his lungs up, how is that an improvement?!"

Hank sighed, busying himself making Peter comfortable against the pillows and putting a box of tissues within easy reach

"That's because he's clearing the congestion" he told the older man, still glaring, "it's a good sign, I promise you. We knew he would be better faster than normal, and he's getting there!"

"Then why do I feel like crap?" Peter croaked, grabbed for a tissue as a fresh paroxysm of coughing racked him, eyes streaming by the time it was over, slumping back wheezing for air and with a hectic red flush highlighting his ashen pallor over the cheeks.

"The fever's still rising. You've been eating properly?"

"If by properly you mean unstoppably, then yes" Erik told him, reached to give Peter's hand a reassuring squeeze. He felt noticeably hotter, clammier than ever, "Aren't you going to do something about this?"

"Do you want me to drag the illness out?" Hank challenged, not responding well to a tone like that before his first coffee of the day, "Giving him anything to suppress the cough will just mean his chest doesn't clear so fast. Same advice – rest, food, fluids, warmth, and I'd suggest you get some rest yourself Erik, you look tired"

That much was very true. He hadn't had much sleep, and what little he had got had been broken and light, woken every time Peter would cough and having been roused at least five times during the night to fetch food for the boy. Even as a temporary toddler, Peter had let his father get far more sleep than this. Before long Hank had left them alone again, muttering darkly as he did about overprotective parenting, and after breakfast Erik had slumped back into the chair and rubbed his eyes wearily.

"Please go get some proper sleep, Dad" Peter croaked, voice rough and weak from the coughing, "I'll be okay, I promise"

"You heard what Hank said," his father told him, "If your fever's getting higher, you need me here more than ever dear boy"

"Then get someone else to watch me. Please? – I don't wanna make you ill too"

The boy had a point, he knew, but he looked so awful this morning that Erik was loathe to leave his side, laid out at present with a fresh scrunched-up tissue curled in one hand ready for the next bout of hacking coughs to shake him. He hadn't looked feverish up until now, but Erik could see he was burning up, would probably be feeling delirious before long. He was knotting his brows in that way he did when pain was starting to get a little too much for him to handle, hardly able to turn himself over in bed without help. Worse, the violent movement of the cough had started to make his belly ache, which really wasn't helpful when he had no choice but to keep eating. Falling into a doze again, breathing sounding thick and ragged, Erik had found his eyes beginning to close of their own accord, finally deciding that he really did need to let someone else take a turn and go to bed.

When Peter had stirred again after half an hour out cold, he'd glanced up to see Jubilee sat where his father had been, offering him a big sympathetic grin.

"Hey" she said quietly, "How're you feeling?"

"You don't wanna know," Peter groaned, accepted her helping him sit up, grimaced half in pain and half in distaste as she had reached for a tall glass of a thick, off-beige substance from the bedside table, "That had better not be one of Hank's creations"

"Nah, I mean like he *did* make it, but it's your Dad's recipe. If you can even call it that" she held the glass out to him. Peter noticed there were some sort of lumps floating in it, "try it, I think you'll be surprised"

Reluctantly he took a tentative sip, before frowning once again. It tasted absolutely delicious.

"What *is* this?" he asked, drank off half the glassful before he had to come up for air, "It's amazing, I could live on it"

"About a dozen Twinkies blended with heavy cream and extra sugar," she grinned, "Pretty sure that would put anyone else in a sugar coma by the way"

He'd finished the glass before she had even finished speaking, gulping down the wonderful, soothingly rich liquid gratefully and relaxing back with a contented little sigh and closing his eyes.

"I think we discovered the cure for 'flu" he murmured, "Or at least for feeling like death when you have it"

He felt Jubilee's small hand wriggle gently into one of his where they rested comfortably on his stomach, squeezed her fingers back and immediately regretted it as his wrists gave a twang of pain. He could seriously do without this.

"Do you want to sleep?" she was asking softly, "We could watch some TV if you want – I moved my portable set in for you"

"Sure," he smiled back, squinted at her, "though to be honest I'm not so sure I'll follow a show so well. My head's spinning, and I don't think some of the stuff I can see is there"

"Like what?"

"Like trails behind stuff" he gestured weakly, "s'cool though. Kinda like tripping, only acid never gave me a headache"

"OK, so when you're better you're going to tell me about that, Mister" Jubilee told him in a tone of mock severity, "and maybe if you make the explanation good, I won't tell your Dad"

She had stayed for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, cheerfully fetching food for him and sitting beside him on the bed, letting him rest his heavy disoriented head on her shoulder and watching whatever was on TV. It didn't really matter, since Peter had proclaimed that this was a pretty weird episode of _Star Trek_ whilst they were watching _Wheel of Fortune_. Jubilee chose not to correct him, just patted his hand gently and shuffled in a little closer. Whatever world Peter was in right now, it didn't seem too bad there. Just returned from fetching him another Twinkie-laden cake shake when Erik had finally made his appearance and taken over from her.

"Hey Mom" Peter told him, grinned lopsidedly, "You change your hair?"

"It's your father" Jubilee hissed quietly in his ear, getting a puzzled look, "He's been fine, Mr Lensherr, but he's kind of tripping out from the fever right now"

Erik smiled indulgently at his son, looking woozy but somehow content with that, handing Jubilee back the empty glass and settling back. At least the high-energy shakes Erik had come up with were going down well – it was far easier than trying to give him enough food for him to keep his strength up right now. Within minutes he had dozed off again, leaving a refreshed Erik to take up his post in the chair and watch over him whilst he napped.

 **A/N : Because I'd be curious, I'd estimate one of those shakes to be around 5096 calories. Which is impressive, no?**


	4. Chapter 4

4

Erik had to try terribly hard not to outright laugh at his son when he'd surfaced from sleep and looked immediately so woozy that he barely seemed to know what planet he was on. Throughout the short while he'd slept, Erik had been holding onto his hand feeling him getting hotter and sweatier, the flush around his cheekbones more pronounced. The laughter had soon died in him, however, when he'd tried to speak to him and got only a wavery blank stare in response. Eventually, after a few minutes of coaxing and sitting him up against the pillows, as pliable and floppy as a rag doll in Erik's hands, he'd finally whispered

"M'scared, Dad"

Erik's chest hurt at the small voice worn ragged with coughing. Grasped his hand back again and stroked it soothingly.

"It's alright, Peter. I'm here. Why are you scared?"

No response for a long time, those wide fever-glittering eyes glancing around the room, swallowing with difficulty and provoking another choking fit of coughing.

"Will I get better?"

"Of course you will!" Erik answered immediately, "Why shouldn't you? It's only a 'flu, you'll be over it in no time. Just as soon as that fever breaks you'll be on the mend"

"Was like this when I was little," Peter muttered. He wasn't looking at Erik, eyes still roving around as if the room was unfamiliar to him, that blankness unsettling, "thought I'd die, y'know? S'like that now"

His father didn't hold back any longer, moved to sit beside him and scoop him up in a firm hug, kissed the top of his head softly. His hair was greasy and tangled, damp with sweat, but Erik didn't care. He could feel him trembling slightly in his arms.

"It's alright," he repeated, "you'll be better soon"

"S'what Mom used to say" that little voice mumbled from his position clutched against his father's chest. Erik said nothing for a long while, only moved one hand to cradle the back of Peter's head gently, stroke a thumb over the crown.

"And she was right. You did. And you'll get better again. I promise" he said eventually, felt an uncertain little nod, "the pain's getting bad, isn't it?"

Another little nod, this time followed by a snuffle and more coughing that forced Erik to let go temporarily before Peter could settle down in his arms again. Truth be told, it had been bad for a while now, but after that last nap he'd woken to the ache becoming a grinding sensation that was all too familiar. Despite all the layers and blankets and his father's warm body he was freezing, would have shivered if he had spare energy to do so, instead just lay still with his woozy head spinning crazily and all his bones hurting, worse every time he coughed.

He hadn't done much talking for the next hour or so. Managed to eat a little soup with Erik's persistence and aid, tried to turn over and go to sleep again but found the pain was far too much. Shook his head firmly at his father when he'd suggested he fetch Hank and see if he could give him anything, knew there was nothing that would really help and set his lips into a thin, white line, clenching down hard on the pain.

By evening, Erik had ignored Peter's refusal and fetched Hank anyway. This time, the doctor had looked genuinely worried, eyes widening in horror as he'd taken Peter's temperature and realised that a fever so high could genuinely hurt him. The boy was moaning quietly now, laying with his eyes halfway closed and struggling for breath, seeming unable to move and barely responding to Hank or Erik.

"Well?" Erik asked, tension strangling his voice. Hank thought, gave him a despairing look.

"I'm sorry, I don't think there's anything I can do. Aspirin would help control the fever, but he's not reacted well to it before. And I can't manage the pain, only anaesthetic works on him"

The doctor had reached down to take Peter's wrist, felt delicately for his pulse, only to have the boy sob and groan something that might have been 'don't' as he tried to pull his arm away. Even that gentle touch was agony, if he'd had just a little more strength he was sure he would have been screaming. Hank bit his lip, sat down on the other side of the bed and tried to give Erik a reassuring smile.

"I'll stay with him" he said, watched the worried father take his seat and brush his son's wet hair away from his face, "Hopefully the fever will break soon"

"If it doesn't?" Erik murmured, "what then?"

"Then I'll move him to the infirmary. For now though, he's getting through it. Just let him"

The next few hours had been hard to watch for them both, Peter unable to doze as he had been and continuing to wheeze and groan and try to change his position only to find that he couldn't, and that the pressure of hands helping him drove spikes of pain deep into his body. Erik didn't know if he was imagining it, but his breathing seemed to be getting worse. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, but helping him change was out of the question at present, he simply couldn't bear anything but the lightest touch. Then, at one in the morning when both men had been drowsing, Hank had suddenly sat upright and leaned over his patient.

"Erik," he said calmly, "Get out"

"Excuse me?"

"Out. Of the room." He snapped, began pulling the covers away from Peter in a hurry, "I mean it, you don't want to be here"

One look at his son revealed why Hank was so concerned. His eyes had rolled back into his head, jaw clenching spasmodically, soon followed by uncoordinated jerks that progressed down his limbs until his whole body was twitching and shaking.

"What's going on?!" Erik demanded, Hank didn't look up, kept his eyes fixed on Peter, holding the pillow under his head so that he didn't slam it into the headboard

"He's seizing – probably from fever, possibly also low blood sugar" Hank winced as one of Peter's flailing hands knocked his glasses off, "It'll be over soon, he's had these before"

Erik had no idea what to do, could only stare in mute horror. As Hank had promised though with one final spasm Peter had fallen limp against the soaked sheets, pliable and deeply unconscious as the doctor rolled him over into the recovery position, careful practiced movements as Hank checked his airways and nodded, satisfied.

"He's fine," he told Erik, still standing frozen by the bed, "can you go fetch him something to eat – a shake or something? He's going to be fine, but he'll need it"

Erik had never felt so grateful to be out of the room, finding that when he returned Hank was gently rolling a fresh sheet underneath his son's body, pulling his wet shirt off and covering him over again with heaps of fresh blankets. The boy was stirring slightly, making a mumbled noise of objection as Hank stuck his temp monitor in his ear, nodded again at the reading.

"Fever's going down," he said, relief evident in his voice, "Peter? You need to sit up and drink this. Come on kid, we'll help"

There had seemed very slightly more volition in his movements, though no more strength, as Erik had gently held him sitting upright whilst Hank held the glass to his lips. He choked a little, only once, but had managed the glassful and slumped back exhausted by the effort. In a few minutes, Hank peeled back one eyelid experimentally and smiled

"He's sleeping. Best thing for him. Are you alright?"

"Fine… I…" Erik gaped for words, finding none. He had never seen anything so disturbing since he was a small boy – and what he had to compare it to was shocking indeed, "That was awful"

"For him too, I assure you. But he's fine now – it's over. Let him sleep" he stood, gathered up his things, "call me back if you're worried"

"You're leaving?!" he said, a little panicked, "but – what if it happens again? What if –"

"It won't," the doctor assured him, "He just needs rest now – the worst's over"

At that moment, Peter had shifted in his sleep to lay one hand over his father's arms where they rested around his waist. Erik's eyes prickled, he swallowed hard and nodded. Stayed there ignoring his leg falling asleep until Peter had raised his head just a little and mumbled

"C'n I have another one of those things? The liquid Twinkies?"

Erik smiled broadly, sniffed a little. Carefully allowed his son to lay down and went to fetch him his shake, satisfied that if he was well enough to be demanding liquidised cake again, he had to be feeling a little better.


	5. Chapter 5

5

If the past 24 hours had been some of the more traumatic of Erik's life, the following 24 had to rank as some of the most annoying. After that final dramatic break in his fever, he'd started steadily improving at a rate of knots, soon well enough to start whining at his father to let him get up, asking how long it would be before he could go for a run, demanding constant attention and generally making himself an enormous pain in the butt. At first Erik had humoured him, worried that he might still be feeling delicate after a major seizure, had even consented to go fetch the copy of _The Cat In The Hat_ from the kindergartner's library to read to him, feeling ridiculous the entire time. It had kept him quiet for a little while, but not nearly long enough for Erik's liking. Now he was laying with both hands against the headboard, banging out a rhythm that was really beginning to get on his father's nerves.

"Could you please stop that" Erik asked wearily, "You're giving me a headache"

"I'm _boooooooored!_ " Peter whined in response, but stopped the banging, "And I'm hungry. Can I have one of those things again? Those are really good"

"You'll get fat if you keep those up you know," Erik warned. Peter shrugged

"Maybe I don't care? Maybe I *want* to get fat? You don't know. I might"

"I'll get you whatever we have. I think we're out of Twinkies anyway. Will you behave and rest whilst I'm gone? Because I'll quite happily tie you down otherwise"

"Scout's honour" Peter grinned, flicked him a salute, "I won't move a muscle"

By the time Erik had returned, however, he had immediately seen that Peter's promises weren't worth much just at the moment, glancing around the room as if he might be hiding somewhere before he had heard choked coughing coming from the small en-suite bathroom. Tapped cautiously on the door and called for his son.

"Peter?" He called out, "Are you alright? Unlock the door"

"Fine!" his son's voice yelled back, tried to speak again and was cut off by another coughing fit. When it was over, Erik heard the toilet flush and the bolt draw back, pushing open the door to find Peter sat on the floor looking white and shaky.

"Were you being sick?" Erik asked, concerned, "If you've started like that we need to get you to the infirmary"

Peter waved the hand he offered to help him up away, shook his head. Took several deep breaths.

"Not vomiting," he said quietly, "just, y'know, clearing my chest"

"What?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? It's been like something from Quatermaas in here Dadneto, all the crap in my lungs wanted out. And it's out. And that was the grossest thing that ever happened to me"

Erik understood at last, made a grimace of distaste. Typical of Peter's body to want to get it over with all at once – after all, he'd been through a two-week 'flu in just under three days, it followed perfectly that the congestion in his lungs would be cleared just as fast – though apparently, in a very unpleasant way. He looked down at his son, held out his hands again and was glad when Peter took them and got shakily to his feet, losing balance and catching himself against Erik's chest.

"This is just undignified" he muttered, muffled in his father's shirt. Didn't protest when Erik manhandled him into being able to lift him and sat him back down on the bed. Sitting for a moment catching his now-cleared breath before he'd offered his father a rueful little smile.

"Sorry I'm annoying you," he said, "I'm just sick of bein' sick. I feel so much better, I wanna just get on with things now"

"Another day's rest, Peter" Erik told him, sat down beside him and nudged him with his shoulder, glad to see that he had enough strength to hold himself up now, "You've been very ill, don't try to do too much too soon"

"V'not been _that_ ill" he muttered, started devouring the plate of sandwiches Erik had brought him, "Have I?"

"You mean you don't remember?"

"Remember what? I remember feeling like hell, and Hank coming to see me and saying I was getting better, and Jubilee watching TV with me, what am I missing?"

"An entire day" his father said gravely, "And it's probably good that you have forgotten. Your fever went so high you had a seizure"

To his surprise, Peter only shrugged again, as if that was perfectly normal and didn't bother him. Carried on eating his sandwiches and laid the empty plate aside, wiping crumbs from his hands.

"That explains it" he said at last, "I never remember if I have those. Mom says they can be pretty brutal to watch – hope I didn't scare you too much"

Erik sighed, shook his head. Put an arm around Peter's shoulders and wished Magda had ever bothered to mention to him that their son was prone to seizures if he was too hot or too hungry. It would have helped to have been prepared, even if it wouldn't have made the experience itself any better. They sat quietly for a while, until Peter had said

"Hey, Dad? Would you maybe help me have a bath? I feel gross all over"

"You smell it too" Erik told him with a fond smile, "I'll help you in and change the sheets – will you be alright with that?"

Within a short while, he had got Peter comfortably settled into a bathful of bubbles, made him promise to leave the door open in case he needed any help, found himself feeling remarkably lighthearted whilst he smoothed down fresh sheets, fetched a set of sweats for his son to change into, glad that after the past few days he was finally getting better. He never would have admitted how much Peter being ill had frightened him – the very things that made him strong and fast left him so vulnerable at times – but he had got through it, and Erik felt he'd done a good job. Felt like a real father, for once. Hearing his son calling for him and helping him step out of the tub, wrap up in a fluffy bathrobe that almost made Erik chuckle out loud at him, drawing a scowl from Peter.

"It's Angie's" he protested, hugged the fleecy fabric around him tighter, "She leaves it here when she goes away. She knows it makes me feel better"

"Whatever you say, my dear boy" Erik smirked, "Whatever you say"

Peter had been far less of a pain for the rest of the day. Well enough to sit up and play chess with his father for a while until he'd got hungry again, laying down for what he claimed was a quick rest and falling instantly and deeply asleep. Erik stayed beside him, though there was no need to now, smoothed down the freshly-washed hair and watched Peter smile in his sleep at the touch, and felt like finally he'd managed to show his son how deeply he cared for him.


End file.
